Exposed (23 page)

Quit being a baby. Just take it off like you did Tuesday. Paul likes looking at you. You know that.

The next time I try, I manage to slide the straps off my arms, first one and then the other. Then I reach around and unfasten the two hooks in the back.

For a few more seconds, I stand there, just stand there, not wanting to let go because when I do, I’ll be naked from the waist up. Just wearing my khakis and socks. And I’d be making a video of my boobs. For Paul to sell.

But he’s going to blur my face.

And I have to have the money, or I’ll lose the B-3k, and lose him.

From where I am, I can’t see the screen anymore, but I imagine Paul leaning forward, his eyes trained right on the place my falling bra will leave bare.

Good tinglies.

A few, at least.

I do like him. I’m totally in love with him, actually. And he loves me, too.

So, he’ll protect me, just like he says he will. He’ll distort my face and nobody’ll know it’s me. And the real scene, this scene, with me letting go and letting the bra drop to the floor—it’s all for Paul.

Cold air grips my chest, and I clamp my teeth together from the sharp sensation.

Then I look toward the handheld, cup my breasts, and make my best effort at a naughty smile.

For Paul.

He’s the only one watching.

The more I think about that, the more I feel like I can do it. Keep my shirt off. And maybe be even sexier.

After a minute or so, I do more.

It’s not so cold after all. Not after I get used to it. And it’s not so hard, either, once I get started.

The knots inside me start untying as I imagine Paul enjoying my little show.

After a little for-Paul-through-the-camera dance, I sit down on the bed and check the B-3k.

Paul’s eyes look glazed. He’s grinning like crazy, and he’s typed, “You are so gonna be rich.”

“Better be,” I write back.

Then I finally, finally make myself work on that Emily paper, and I do a way good job, too.

A week later, my bank account’s looking better. Like amazingly, shockingly better, and it doesn’t seem hard
at all
to give Paul a few more late-night videos.

And my new customized mini-notebook computer and premium webcam are already on order, due in ten to fourteen business days.

After I save our Emily paper grade with that second rough draft—which got an A, of course, to average with that C and give us a chance at a much better total grade—I make Devin happy by producing a beautiful final draft a whole day early, for us to go over, edit, and make completely perfect.

Even better, Mom’s relenting on the grounding enough to allow Devin to come over this afternoon to help put the final polish on the paper before we print it out, and to run through our competition routines again since Regionals are in two days. The Bear has excused
us from organized practice and games until after Regionals, but she expects us to be working hard on our own.

Call me if you need individual attention, and I vill come right over….

Now it is up to you, my girls….

Own your routines….

Own your victories!

Lauren bangs on the garage door and yells, “Is it my turn yet? I’ve just
got
to go over my pieces again!”

Devin’s eyes shift toward the door and she drops a baton. It bounces toward me on the padded flooring. I dodge it and it bashes into Lauren’s karaoke machine, almost knocking the machine off the old suitcase she uses for a stand.

I get my balance again, punch off my boom box, and re-cue Devin’s competition music CD as we both yell, “Not yet!”

Lauren thumps the door once, but doesn’t say anything else.

Devin gives me a miserable look. “Oh, honey, I don’t think I can take another round of ‘Do-Re-Mi.’ Do we really have to let that monstrosity back in this room to start singing again?”

“Sorry.” I let out a groan at the thought. “She really needs the time, though. This is all so important to her.”

Devin groans to match mine, then glances at her
watch. “We’ve got like ten more minutes before we switch. And I still think your sister needs serious pharmacological intervention.”

“She needs Mom and Dad to pull her out of this play.” I frown. “But at the same time, that would just kill her, so I don’t know.”

Devin’s eyebrows lift, but she doesn’t argue with me.

“Ready?” I ask.

When she nods, I push PLAY and start her music, stifling an urge to scream
Again
, just to invoke the spirit of the Bear.

Watching the routine for like the billionth time, it’s hard to keep my mind from wandering. I keep thinking about my new computer, and how when I get it, the B-3k currently tucked inside my last year’s backpack in my closet, safe up in my room, will become a backup. If Mom nabs the new computer, I’ll still have that, and I can order myself whatever I need. After seeing what came in from that video, there’s no question I’ll have plenty of money to buy whatever I need. More than plenty.

Devin moves through her illusions without a single mistake. I smile, total reflex because I’m not paying close attention, but I really do feel happy for her, and not so worried about how I’ll do.

Of course, the new computer can’t be with me all the time. I’ll have to take the B-3k when I’m going out of town or something, like to Regionals. But the laptop will be so much easier to use and see, and I can do school
assignments on it, too, and not have to fool with the downstairs computer as long as I don’t let Mom catch me.

As I try to keep my eyes from glazing over, Devin zips through her dance moves, totally clean, and executes a spectacular toss. More smiles from me. I even clap.

The new laptop will be easy enough to hide from Mom. The biggest issue will be getting it from my private mailbox to my room. Paul and I have already talked about the next video I need to make, and spicing it up a little. That’ll probably give us enough money for him to come visit me. I need that soon. I want it soon.

Devin’s into her wind-down, smile plastered on her pretty face, but she’s starting to breathe hard from doing the routine so many times.

“Well?” she asks when she finishes, holding her batons and staring at me with big, hopeful eyes.

“Perfect,” I announce as I shut off the boom box, hoping I didn’t miss anything.

“Now, see, you’ve got that I’m-on-another-planet look again.” Devin lowers her batons and keeps staring at me. “Were you really watching that last part?”

Heat floods my face, but I swallow and hold up my head and manage to look her straight in the eyes. “I was watching!”

Sort of.

“You did great, as always, Devin. You have the heart of a vinner.” I stand and move my baton case and the CD player away from Lauren’s karaoke setup. “Stack your
stuff over here out of Lauren’s way, and let’s work on the paper in the living room, okay?”

Without comment, Devin walks over and puts her sticks in her case.

Okay, she’s annoyed.

I should kick myself for spacing out like that. So much on my mind. So many plans to keep up with. It’s hard. But for today, I need to stay on the Emily paper and Regionals. The videos and Paul and my computer ideas, I need to save for tonight, in between dinner and Lauren invading my room to kick me all night long.

I so need to come clean with Devin about Paul.

The second I have that thought, part of me longs to tell her everything, or really, to tell somebody other than Paul everything. But then two seconds later, I never want to tell anyone ever. It goes like that. Up and down and around and around in my head.

As Lauren brushes past us hurrying toward her karaoke machine, I glance at Devin’s tight jaw and her slightly hurt expression. She’s believing me, accepting what I said, but if I don’t tell her the truth about talking to him again and she finds out on her own, that’ll be bad.

After I meet Paul, I’ll tell her.

I want to see him in person, make sure I’m not crazy and all that. Then I’ll spill some stuff to Devin. Maybe not everything, but enough.

Mom meets us as we come into the living room. She’s carrying a small plate of fruit, cheese, and wheat
crackers. Two bottles of water are sticking out of her cooking-smock pockets. We grab those instantly. By the time I kill mine, Devin’s already scarfing down apples and cheddar and saying “Thanks” to Mom with her mouth full.

Mom sets the plate on the desk next to the computer and gives me a hopeful look. “Half the plate has about two hundred fifty calories. I measured and checked.” She glances at Devin, who snags another handful of food. “A third of the plate has under two hundred,” Mom amends quickly. “Good enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” The smile I give her isn’t forced or fake. I appreciate that she’s trying. And it so helps that she’s not really able to take things away from me anymore, even though she thinks she can.

Devin and I settle down to eat and stop sweating before doing the paper, and Mom sits with us. “I’ve talked to your father, Devin, about Regionals. He’s driving up behind the bus, and he’ll look after you and Chan until Chan’s father can get there.”

We nod.

The sharp cheddar cheese makes my mouth pucker, and I steal some of Devin’s water.

Dad’s out of town, but he’s driving straight to the gymnasium where Regionals are scheduled for this year. The competition’s about two hours from West Estoria, and about three hours from where Dad’s working.

“Doe, a deer, a feee-male deer,” Lauren sings from the
garage, really, really loud. Her voice sounds great, no kidding, but it’s so
loud
.

Devin freezes mid-chew.

Mom’s face pinches, then relaxes into a blank mask. Her hands twitch like she wants to cover her ears.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me staying home for her?” Mom shouts over the music.

“I’m sure,” I yell back after swallowing a slice of apple. “I know she needs somebody. She’s worked so hard—you can’t just break her heart.”

Mom glances toward the garage and looks absolutely persecuted and miserable. “No, I can’t, can I?”

All three of us laugh. Then glance toward the garage again like,
Maybe she’ll get tired of this.

Fat chance.

The kid’s too good. Lauren will stick this out, and by the time it’s over, I’ll forever hate that play and the movie version of it, too, for the rest of my natural life. We’ll all hate it. We’ll all have nightmares about it.

Mom puts on her best supportive-mother face, gets up, and wanders off toward the kitchen. Devin and I finish eating, glorying in the few seconds when the music actually stops. Then we move to the computer. I sit down at the keyboard and pull up the Emily paper, and we start reading and talking and making sure each word is absolutely perfect. If we ace this draft, we’ll get at least a B, and maybe a low A for the project, which will help Devin’s grade a ton.

“This part about her lesbianism with her sister-in-law.” Devin points to the screen as I use the zoom function to make it larger. “Should we mention that article I found about her ‘Wild Nights’ poem being a reference to doing the nasty with a woman?”

“I don’t know.” I scroll to the end of the sentence and think about adding the citation. “That article talks about the poem being about sex, but not about lesbian sex.”

Devin gives me a look. “Hello? What do you think
rowing in Eden
means? Come on.”

I crack up. “It’s not that simple. We’ve got to—” Mom walks back into the room with two more bottles of water.

Out of reflex, I hit CONTROL-ENTER twice to conceal our screen, even though I don’t have to, then feel stupid.

Except … something pops up.

Lauren’s pink puppy game.

What … ?

“Hey, I didn’t partially lift your grounding so you girls could play computer games,” Mom says as she puts the waters down. “Get back to work.”

“Uh, okay,” Devin mumbles, giving me the do-something elbow right in the ribs.

My brain’s completely frozen. It looks like a game. There’s a counter running and everything, and now and then the puppies shift position really fast and the score changes, as if I moved them with my fingers on the keyboard.

Finally, I manage to hit CONTROL-ENTER twice again, and the pink puppy screen vanishes.

Out in the garage, Lauren switches to “Lonely Goatherd,” the song with all the yodeling, which sounds so much better when Julie Andrews does it. Each note stabs into my ice-cold head.

“Phew. The paper didn’t get wasted.” Devin sounds relieved as Mom “humphs” and heads back toward the kitchen.

“What was that thing?” Devin adds in a whisper. “A screen concealer? Did you put some on this machine?”

I nod, then get confused and shake my head for no. Aloud, I say, “Yeah, a concealer, only I didn’t put it on here. Lauren’s been using it. I thought it was a game.”

Both of us turn toward the garage door and stare at it.

“Wonder what that kid has been up to,” Devin says, like she doesn’t really care and wants to get back to the paper.

But the question makes my cheddar and apples and wheat crackers charge up my throat. My stomach cramps. My body cramps all over. I jump out of my chair, fly off to the downstairs bathroom, slam the door, and drop to my knees, hugging the toilet.

I can’t quit thinking.

I can’t quit remembering the night I downloaded my screen concealer.

That night I passed right by the cartoons and pink
puppies and picked the kittens. Mine doesn’t look like a game, but the cartoons and puppies were different. They looked like games.

I thought Lauren was playing a game.

My guts heave, but nothing comes out. My eyes tear, but the water still won’t slide down my face. I’m all jammed up inside. Blocked.

Lauren could have found out about those screen concealers from anybody. Lots of people use them.

But the same site as I used?

Screen concealers are completely common. It’s just a coincidence.

The … same … site….

Same site….